


To Gild a Lily

by Weavillain



Category: The Loud House (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Humor, Lemon, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-24 09:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weavillain/pseuds/Weavillain
Summary: You’re back in Royal Woods for a visit, and you don’t seem to think that much is going to change while you’re here. It turns out that a certain eighteen-year-old friend of yours aims to make you reconsider that mindset, at least when it comes to how you see her.





	1. Chapter 1

Whoever coined the phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder" obviously didn't have the I-696 in mind. Or hell, maybe they _did_ and they were one of the few weirdos out there who enjoyed congested traffic, along a near twenty-nine mile strip of road, en route to their hometown.

After a year has passed since you last drove your beat-up, red Accord along this infamously dreaded interstate, you can't exactly say that "fondness" is the word that comes to mind as you continue to be a prisoner of yet another mid-afternoon clog of automobiles and the angry drivers who honk their horns in vain as they crawl forth at a snail's pace every five minutes.

 _Ugh_.

Is it too much to ask for this constant annoyance to just...kindly fuck off? Just for today? Despite popular belief, you do _not_ need a reason to repeatedly bang your head against your steering wheel.

...

Well, when you think about it (or at least _try_ to think over the cacophony of blaring car horns and your favorite FM 103.1 tunes), you suppose you've been getting enough good luck as it is, so much so that bitching about an overdue reunion with one of Michigan's worst "tourist spots" comes off like griping about a first world problem.

A faint smiles passes on your lips when you come to terms with the fact that there's a lot to be thankful for.

For starters, you're visiting your family and friends after living on campus at Greensdale University for the last three years. You would've come around sooner…

...if not for the fact that your demanding studies were so rigorous that you had the nagging premonition of dropping out if you weren't constantly surrounded by your books and the eggheads who could actually afford to take a siesta every now and then.

Lucky bastards.

The thing is, though, _you're_ kind of a lucky bastard, too. If not for the fact that one of your best friends was literally one of the smartest people on the planet, not only would you have flunked out during the first semester but you wouldn't have been able to breeze through your Spring exams and be able to enjoy Spring break without worrying about fishing thousands of tuition money down the toilet.

So yeah, Lisa Loud kinda rules for doing that. Then again, you've known that since you first met her in middle school, back when you both weren't the best at making friends. But at least you were pretty decent at making first impressions, which was what ultimately led to where you are with her today— where even after she already earned her college degrees years ago and didn't need to fuss about the university life, she always took time out of her busy day to tutor you through video chat sessions.

As happy as all of that should make you feel, you can't help but let out a sad little sigh when you remember that you can't thank her in person. A few days ago, you told her that you planned on seeing her when you came back into town, but she wouldn't be around. She had some comrades...er, _colleagues_ in Russia to see to discuss some technobabble that still doesn't make sense to you after hearing it for nearly half of your life.

…

But not even _that_ news could bum you out forever. Even though she'll be away for nearly a whole month, you at least have two pleasantries to return to once you make it to Royal Woods.

An empty house and Lily Loud.

Your mom still works night shifts at Woodland County's ICU department, meaning that you can just chill without getting grilled with hugs and pestering, interrogating questions about your study habits and your nutrition and your promise to abstain from any parties or sexual activity that you made before you left…

...

Pfft, yeah right.

The point is, you get an atmosphere where the first thing you get to do is set down your packed bags, crack open a beer, and friggin' relax.

But that'll only be for about a few hours.

Once you've settled in, you plan to spring a surprise visit on Lisa's little sister and take her somewhere fun to celebrate. It's a shame you couldn't go back home a few days earlier, when she turned eighteen, but you figure that pampering the little booger should make up for it.

Plus, it's not like watching her be happy wasn't the most addicting experience in the world. It always had been, back when you first met her as a precocious ten-year-old girl and you helped her craft some of the wildest imaginations to use as backdrops for your pretend expeditions through the park.

Or when she was twelve and you hoisted her up on your shoulders so that she could get a better view of the outdoors SMOOCH concert the Louds invited you to see with them—the post-show display of pyrotechnics couldn't match the dazzle of wonder and excitement in her cute little puppy dog eyes.

Or when she was fourteen and she was in a funk because her date for the Homecoming dance dumped her for somebody else, so you offered to take his place as consolation. By the time you had danced that night away, shot the breeze about your favorite YouTube Let's Players, and babbled on about the fine intricacies of _A Tune of Frost and Flames_ lore while stuffing your bellies with snack food and punch, she assured you—with the purest smile you've ever seen—that you were far from a mere consolation prize.

Even in the midst of a Top 5 worst traffic jam, your heart flutters happily and you're grinning like a fool at the thought of spoiling her like the little sister you always saw her as.

And there was no way that anything was going to get in the way of that.

Nope. Not a chance.

…

At least, not unless the dumbass in front of you got a clue, stopped scratching his balls long enough to see the space between him and the driver in front of him, and pull forward, for God's sake! 

But before you can use your horn to practical use, someone in another lane got the right idea and switched lanes to fill up the vacancy.

You repeatedly and angrily beep the horn at the moron in front, anyway, hoping that the sounds miraculously make up the Morse code equivalent of, "I hope a giant meteor smashes you into dust."

Hmph. Fuckhead.


	2. Chapter 2

You finally roll into town a little past five o'clock.

It's _waaaaaay_ later than what you were hoping for, but you can't exactly be mad when you understand what all the hold up on the interstate was about—a four-car pile-up isn't something you can angrily shake your fist at, as if you're a frail, cranky old geezer who wants to chase the kids off your lawn.

Besides, even though you're a little tired from the long trip, you're determined not to let your exhaustion cut into any more of your time. The beer and catnap were simply gonna have to be put on hold until after you and Lily got to enjoy yourselves.

You did the sensible thing of letting Mrs. Loud know that you're coming over and what you plan to do as you drive on to 1216 Franklin Avenue. In return, she promises not to let her daughter know of your arrival. After the phone conversation ends, you realize that she defied tradition by not mentioning anything about a curfew.

Huh.

Last time you checked, Lily was always supposed to be back at the house before 8:00 PM. You knew this because of how much she complained to you, a few years ago, about her parents freaking out about her arriving half an hour late and grounding her as a result.

You suppose that turning eighteen gave her enough leverage to argue for her independence in certain areas…

Or hell, maybe she just trusts you to care for her "widdle baby", just as you've always done—so much so that she doesn’t care how late it gets because _you're_ there.

You smirk and nod in approval. Yeah. That sounded _way_ better.

* * *

Before you know it, the Loud residence comes into view once you turn the corner and take a leisurely slow cruise down Franklin Avenue, observing your surroundings as best as a driver could without the risk of causing property damage or vehicular manslaughter.

Yikes.

You're sure that some of the residents inside the familiar houses have changed, but that's the only difference you can think about as every little facet of the neighborhood flashes by and reminds you of your younger years, romping about with the Louds and...those admittedly very friendly but very creepy Orvilles on the odd occasion (and you thought the _Yates_ were bad).

Nothing's out of place, not even that stop sign with the dent in the middle of its handle. Soon, the best part of the normality shows up as soon as you reach your destination—a clear parking lane, right in front of the Loud house.

You were always happy to find a spot for your car in the past, lest you had to find a location that was close enough _and_ wasn't enforced by towing prosecutions.

Once you pull up into place and park, you don't get out just yet. You just let everything sink in for a bit—the memories of your youth are still flooding into you.

You haven't been here in about a year, and you can't help but feel excitement fluttering about in your gut like a swarm of eagle-sized butterflies.

" _Actually,"_ a Lisa-sounding voice in your head says, _"a group of butterflies is referred to as a 'kaleidoscope'."_

You shake your head in disbelief and chuckle. Figures. Not even a long distance can keep your friend from popping up out of nowhere to call you out like that.

Or maybe she literally found a way into your brain with some weird ass microscopic probe that she slipped into your juice or something. Even though she swore of those invasive kind of human experiments years ago, you still can't put such an antic past her.

But whatever. You don't need to worry about that with _Lily._ Speaking of which, you're sure you had to meet up with her pretty soon...ish. So, you get out your convertible, walk up the pathway to the front door, and ring the doorbe-

_Zzzt!_

You let out a curse and suck on your zapped finger, wincing as the tiny tendrils of throbbing pain shoot up your arm and grind into your shoulder.

Wow, seriously? This shit _still_ isn't fixed?

Wasn't Lana supposed to be some wonder handywoman who could fix anything? You always thought so. Hell, she did a good job of fixing your miserable older brother's personal life by going steady with him. If she could do that, then a measly, faulty doorbell should've been as easy as...

Wiping the grimace of pain off your face and replacing it with a smile as you uncurl your lips from your finger as soon as your head the door creaking open.

The visage that greets you is dressed in a salmon-colored shirt, a pair of beige pants, and a friendly grin. The years have been kind to Mrs. Loud—a few crow's feet and a few wispy streaks of silvery hair are all that she has to show for someone who's pushing into their sixties.

You mentally prepare yourself for the hug that you know is coming, which is where you find yourself within a few seconds.

"Hey there, Mr. College Grad!" she says.

You laugh and let her know that you still have a year left before you can give yourself that title, even though it’s not a guarantee. She lets you go and gives your cheek a quick pinch while she shoots you a playful look.

"Not with that attitude, you're not," she chastises.

She lets you go and gestures for you to come inside. "Well, don't be a stranger. Come on in, and I'll go get Lily for you."

You don't waste any time heeding to her suggestion, especially since you can hear the telltale buzzing of nearby bees—you just know that those little bastards have it out for you, just like they always seem to.

Upon making it inside, you help yourself to an empty spot on the couch and just...sit there, really. There's probably something mildly interesting for you watch on the good 'ol telly, but...eh.

Besides, you have better things to do while Mrs. Loud goes upstairs to get Lily. For one thing, there's thinking about the girl of the hour herself. In no time at all, she was gonna do what she always did when she knew you were and race down the stairs to find you and try to squeeze the breath out of your body with the biggest hug her tiny little arms could muster.

You smile at the thought, especially with how you know you wouldn't be able to resist ruffling her hair while she half-heartedly protests the gesture with puffed cheeks and muffled giggles.

And _maaaaaaybe_ you'll bop her on the nose for good measure. She'll whine a little, of course, but she only has herself to blame for being so gosh darn adorable.

You think about that longer than you thought you had time for because by the time you snap out of your reverie, you realize that it's been about ten minutes since you got inside. The absence of anyone else's presence makes you wonder where Mrs. Loud ended up, why Mr. Loud hadn't shown up to meet you yet, and what was taking Lily so lo-

Your head swivels to their staircase when you finally pick up the wind of sole hitting wood—in a few seconds, it's accompanied by a sight that throws you for a loop.

You know for a fact that that's Lily almost nonchalantly heading down the stairs, but you're shocked (utterly stupefied) at what she's wearing. Gone were the days of those cheesy anime-themed T-shirts and baggy jeans that you always teased could pass off as parachute pants.

There's nothing flashy about that long-sleeved, lavender-colored sweater though, nor can you consider that short, black skirt an item of "weeb culture"—a pair of pearl earrings and white sandals top off the ensemble.

The only thing that comes close to resembling the little ragamuffin that you know and love is that cute little sprout of pale blonde hair that sticks out the top of her head, but that's...really about it. Her locks have grown out significantly, trailing over her shoulders while one bang nearly covers up her right eye.

If she was dressing to impress, she certainly accomplished that.

...

But it's only when you're able to get a grip on your senses when you understand just how "impressed" you are, so much so that you can feel the strain of your widened eyes as they take everything in at once.

You realize you've been gawking at the milky frames of her exposed legs and the little quiver of lithe muscle in her calves as she slowly strolls the steps...

And that was before you snuck a peek at how tight her wooly sweater was at it hugged and accentuated every possible curve of her frame, namely the modestly-sized ones in front.

And...your pants have suddenly become just a tad bit tighter in the front, and the heat that "it" packs doesn't compare to the heat that flushes in your face from shame. Shit, you might as well have counted her among the campus randos that were only good enough for undressing with your eyes as they raced off to class.

But you can beat yourself over the head (no, not _that_ one) later. For now, you take advantage of the fact that she hasn't noticed you yet to look away and try to will your scandalous blush away while filing this little mental bout of depravity in the "never to be dwelt on again" file cabinet.

Despite popular belief, it's only about halfway full.

Even though you can't see her, you can still feel her presence as it comes up behind you.

She kicks off your reunion with a friendly greeting, one that spoke volumes of how much she missed you.

"'Sup?"

It's certainly more casual than you were anticipating, but you take it in stride and respond back with the same question.

"Eh, not much. Just wondering why you won't look at me."

There's enough accusation in her tone to know that she'll be prying for answers if you don't come up with a good enough excuse. Fortunately, you just so happen to be clever enough to come up with...

Absolutely nothing.

You figure that it's best face the music and pass off your reddened face as the sunlight reflecting off your skin or some shit, so you look over your shoulder and almost shiver from anticipated dread when you find her folding her arms and smirking at you.

"Sheesh, can't you look at your phone porn collection later?"

She throws her head back and laughs while you choke on your spit as you splutter and vehemently deny her accusation. Her light-hearted mockery ends with a roll of her eyes.

"Relax, ya little weirdo. I'm just joking." To prove that there's no malice, she holds her arms out. "Bring 'er in."

You do so, but you've made up your mind on revenge when you meet her halfway. Once she has her arms around you, you pick her up by the waist and start spinning around in place as fast as you can.

"H-hey!" she squeals through her peals of laughter. "C-cut it _oooooooout_!"

You give her the business for about ten more seconds before your gingerly put her back on her feet. She's still a giggling fit, but it doesn't deter her from softly jabbing you in the shoulder.

"You're lucky I didn't use my Krav Maga background on you, jackass," she says.

You riposte with how ungrateful she is to the late birthday present that she just got. You're not surprised with the incredulous look she fires back with.

"Seriously? I know college students tend to be dirt poor, but this is a new low."

Then, she shows off her glinting whites through her toothy sneer.

"That's why I know you didn't waste all that gas just to come down here and twirl me around like I'm some storybook princess."

If she's telling you that much, you suppose that means that her mom only told her that you were arriving and nothing more. You decide to fill her in on what you assume Mrs. Loud left out.

"Anywhere I wanna go, huh?" she replies and scratches her chin in deep contemplation.

You can practically hear your poor wallet whimpering, knowing that this girl was undoubtedly gonna drain it dry by the end of the day. You mentally tell it to suck it up because Lily is worth it. Besides, you can imagine all the fun that you two would have with the typical hot spots of recreation she was known for enjoying. You'd probably get into a little fun at Dan & Blisters, followed by a romp through the Laser Tag Labyrinth, downing the biggest ice cream sundae on the menu at the local parlor, getting a few rounds of mini golf in...

And knowing how excitable she can be, that'll all happen within the span of about two hours. Ah well. Like you've told yourself before, she's worth it.

"I...guess a quick bite to eat would be fine," she finally says.

The eyebrow you raise gives her all she needs to know to read your befuddled mind.

"Yeah, that's it. I just want a quiet place for us to...y'know, catch up while I stuff my face with fries. That's not too weird, is it?"

You tell her no, but you still can't help but marvel at how...un-Lilylike her plans are. Were they a mature, thoughtful response to how tight she thinks your budget is? Was she just...not really feeling up to wasting so much of her energy when it was way past noon already?

Whatever. You're not gonna complain when food and fellowship was on the table. You tell her that that suits you just fine as you pull out your car keys from your pocket. Before you can go anywhere, though, she swiflty snatches them from your loose grasp and makes her way towards the door. She looks back and sticks her tongue out at you.

"I wanna surprise you," she tells you and winks. "But if you wanna take the reins, I guess you'll just have to chase after me."

She says that, even though she takes her sweet 'ol time to mosey on out of the house. You don't give chase because before you know it, your racing heart pumps blood into all the wrong places—you suppose that's what happens when your wandering eyes accidentally get affixed to a good-looking butt that wobbles within the confines of a sexy, little skirt.

Welp, so much for the "never to be dwelt on again" file cabinet. You'll be lucky if it isn't three-quarters full by the time the day is over.

 


	3. Chapter 3

You don't know how it happens, but both you and Lily fall into silence once you get in your car and she takes the wheel. You figured there would be at least some attempt at idle conversation on her end, but now you guess that she just wants to save the chitchat for her restaurant of choice…

Where, more often than not, her mouth will be occupied with chewing and swallowing.

Yep. That makes perfect sense.

What doesn't, however, is how the presence of your car is suddenly so...suffocating? Is that the right word?

Or was there something more accurate to describe what compelled you to you keep peeking quick glimpses over to your driver, namely the smooth column of her throat and how it flows into the titillating groove of her collarbone?

"Creepy as fuck" probably fit. Then again, you were only looking for the right word, not words.

At this point, you've conceded to yourself that Lily isn't quite the same as she once was. She's certainly never teased you so brazenly with raunchy humor before nor has she ever strayed out of the "cute as a button" territory in your eyes. Still, even though it's impossible to think that she wouldn't be spank bank material for someone, you still think that that "someone" shouldn't have been the person who's seen her as nothing more than a little sister their entire life.

You wouldn't think twice of the times where she came up to you and cried about a boo-boo she got on her knee, craving for the healing magic in your kisses that would make the pain go away. Now, doing the same to her would tempt your lips to trail higher, seeking more pleasurable territory to ravage.

In the past, your lap was always available whenever she wanted to watch her favorite programs with you. You shudder and feel another tingle blaze through your groin at the thought of her doing it to you now—the curves of her backside grinding into you with every little shift of her hips, the sweet fragrance of her hair wafting into your nostrils, and the exposed flesh of her shoulders oh-so delectably close to your lips...

Uh oh.

You immediately scramble to use your hands and cover up the most damnable erection this side of Royal Woods—even if there's a chance that you can pass off the bulging lump in your jeans as mere coincidence, it's still not a good chance.

Speaking of chances, you hope you have a prayer of getting through this without more seedy thoughts about your dear friend/honorary sister because...yeah, that shit ain't cool. It might fly for some people, but this is weird enough to be a complex not worth having. Seriously, it'd be better off getting stiffies over nickels or paper clips than Lily.

Or the I-696. That'd be better, too. After all, you always say that it could get fucked ( _ba dum tss_ ).

You know what else would be good right about now? A good 'ol conversation. It's the perfect means for a distraction while certain uncooperative parts of your anatomy deflate and get brought to heel right the fuck now.

So, you do what's natural and turn to her...

And find her already looking back at you. Her apparent interest in...you puzzles you enough, but then her cheeks turn rosy and her eyes widen before she diverts her attention back to the streets. You ask her what that was all about.

"N-nothing!" she stutters harshly as she frowns. "Why're you nosy?!"

Her guilty rebuke is too funny to be offensive. Instead, you turn her words back on her by calling her out on her hypocrisy, saying that she can't be calling people "nosy" when she apparently finds you interesting enough to stare at.

And you're prepared for her to fall back on old habits and sulk cutely with her nose turned up while she seethes and grumbles under her breath. You know her well enough to understand that that sort of reaction was just her way of admitting defeat without saying it.

But that doesn't happen. She just...glares bitterly through the front window, her gaze piercing through the glass and her knuckles fading whiter as her hands tighten around the steering wheel.

And yet, the words she speaks to you aren't laced with anger, but with...gloomy indifference.

"Whatever. Just...just forget it."

The realization dumps all over you like ice cold water, and you're quick to say that you're sorry.

She heaves a heavy sigh, her expression softening. "I'm not mad. You don't have to apologize."

Three years ago, that would've been enough for you. But four exes later means that you can read girls a little better than you used to—you know that she, as a matter of fact, is mad at you, but knows that she has no ground to call you out on some obvious moral wrong. It may absolve you of a serious offense, but it highlights a sobering truth

She won't admit to the nerve that you accidentally struck. You can't remember the last time where, if her siblings weren't around, you weren't one of the first people she confided her pain to. Now, she apparently feels so much distance from you that you're not good enough for her anymore.

Hell, now that you think about it, maybe this is just a burden to her. Maybe she feels like you dropping in out of nowhere on her is a big inconvenience, and she just wants to humor your charity with one measly dinner before she goes back to her life.

Her life...without _you_.

Man, forget her figure. This is the most drastic change you've found, and it cuts deep enough for you to sulk in your seat, look in your lap, and let out a sad sigh of your own.

* * *

It's been about ten minutes, give or take, since you left the Loud residence.

You finally feel the car crawling to a stop, and your curiosity wins you over. You loftily look up from your lap and find...

Your house's driveway and the garage door a few inches away from the front bumper. Huh.

Last time you checked, this humble abode was the furthest thing from an eatery that there could be. You can't even begin to speculate what's happening because the sudden shiver up your arm shocks you and intensifies when you feel the responsible agent, Lily's hand, squeeze your bicep.

"Hey," she says.

You pretend that blood isn't racing off to where it shouldn't as you turn to her with a strained smile on your face. It's even harder to keep up appearances when you see that she's still about as forlorn as she was when that painfully awkward conversation ended.

"Look, I'm..." Breath rushes through her nose as she inhales deeply. "...I'm sorry about...y'know, snapping at you and stuff. It wasn't cool of me."

It's tempting to agree, but you're too concerned for her well-being to make this about your grievances. So, you tell her that it's okay and...nothing else. You could've asked why she brought the both of you back to your place, but that feels like territory you shouldn't be treading, lest you set off another combustible element that makes matters worse.

Still, all the same, it confuses you. See, if she felt guilty enough about her attitude to want to call things off, she would've just drove home, got out, and let you find your way back home.

But instead of finding an answer that you can agree with, you find her lips turning up into a smile instead. A genuine one, unlike the goofy-looking one you've been holding onto your face for all this time—maybe she just finds it funny enough to be humorous. You drop it in an instant, all the same.

"But I still wanna hang out with you. So, I was thinking that we can just watch a movie or two on TV and eat some greasy deep dish pizza instead. Sound good?"

You admit to her that it sounds better than good, though you question her motivations.

"Eh," she lets out with a shrug, "everything in the theaters sucks right now, the food is shitty and overpriced, and it's been a while since I've seen the inside of your house. Plus, even though Emerald Fridays has the best chicken alfredo in town, I'm down with pigging out on tasty junk food, too."

You eyes bug out of your head as you start spluttering in disbelief. She snickers at your exasperation, knowing exactly what she did to set such reaction off.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I was gonna take us to Emerald Fridays. Whoops. My bad." She laughs as you shoot her a dirty look. "Look, just because you have bad memories of the place doesn't mean that you have to take it out on me. Besides, I'm sure no one you go to school with remembers the salad fork incident from your ninth birthday."

Uhhhh...is it getting really hot in here or was it just you? Either way, you haul ass as you scramble out the car, grab your bags from the backseat, and rush to your front door before painfully embarrassing childhood memories can come flooding back.

If you're gonna get in the fetal position and weep the night away, you're gonna make sure you don't make a scene in public.

* * *

As it turns out, a trip down memory lane with a Season 13 _A Tune of Frost and Flames_ marathon—with the rerun of the show's last TV movie about an hour away—and two anchovy pizzas was the perfect way to counteract the mental anguish of your troubled past ready to haunt you at a moment's notice.

...

Hey, anyone can call you a baby over a salad fork all you want, but they don't know your pain!

Lily does, though, which is why she offered you an apology by letting you choose the toppings for the ordered extra large pizzas. The last box is the only thing that separates you and Lily from each other on the couch as the soft, blue glow of the television screen casts its light across the unlit living room.

But nothing can separate you from striking up another conversation as another commercial break airs. You ask her what's been happening at school lately.

"Okay, so for starters...hang on just a sec." She pauses suddenly and belches loudly. "Whoops. Guess that's what happens when I have to show you up in a pizza eating contest."

Whatever. You _let_ her win, and she knows it. She can keep that cocky, little grin all she wants.

Especially since it highlighted the faint sheen of lipgloss that made her lips look so darn-

Nope! Nuh uh! Not doing this shit again!

"Anyways," she continues, "things have been...chill, I guess. Lisa helped me get elected in the SGA as their treasurer, I'm helping Amber pass the twelfth grade because she's still too lazy to pick up a textbook, and...yeah, that's pretty much it. School's been boring, but my friends make it less boring."

She's preaching to the choir on that one, that's for sure. Although, you're sometimes too preoccupied with the fear of failure to be bored. But you soon realize that her brief report lacked any...pizzazz, any doe-eyed, childish embellishment. It's a little jarring to hear such a "just another day in the office" come from her, but it's a surprise that can't jostle you after everything you've experienced over the past few hours.

Still, you think with a smirk, it can't hurt to make some _pizzazz_ happen by asking her about her love life.

She replies to your gesture with a quirked eyebrow and a confused expression. "What?"

You drop the bomb on her and watch how it rattles her a little, leaving her stunned before her cheeks singe with crimson blotches.

"I...um...w-well..." She's a trembling mess, fidgeting with her skirt as she wrings her hands in the fabric. "...t-thing is...uhhhh..."

You can't help but chuckle, and you're thankful that you didn't wound her pride for her not to playfully fight back with a retort. She grabs the empty pizza box and hurdles it at you, though her sloppy aim keeps you safe.

She tells you to shut up, but she's doing so without malice—a confident, predatory grin comes to life as her cheeks return to their natural color.

"Oh yeah, Casanova, how many girls have you been with?"

You hold up the magic number on your hand, and she rolls her eyes while she lets out a snort.

"Four?! Ha! Yeah right! Who do you think you're fooling?!"

Oh, what was that? It sounds like she wants proof. Alright then, proof it is.

You fumble into your pocket and pull out your phone. Switching it on, you access your folder gallery, breeze past the one that says "NSFW fan art", and go to the one that's marked as "Selfies". Seeing as you only ever bother to partake in them whenever your exes wanted to do cute couple shots, you figure that Lily shouldn't have any problem eating crow pie with your proof.

With a smug grin, you toss the phone to her and watch as she picks it up, scans the screen...

And lets it drop from her limp fingers as her self-assured moxie crumbles into dust. It takes you a second to respond to her attitude shift, it it finally hits you that there was a severe miscalculation in your judgment and you just made a terrible mistake that's made her feel bad.

_Again._

Beside the fear of getting distracted in not so wholesome ways, you're afraid to scoot closer to her and ask her what's wrong because you truly believe that she'll just bite your head off. You ask her what's wrong, anyways, even though you're certain you're responsible and that you’re in for an earful.

She shakes her head as she looks up at you with a sad smile. "I mean, it's nothing. Or...or I guess it should be _nothing_."

Her eyes dart to her feet. "I'm just a little...shocked, is all. Here I am without a single boyfriend and you're over here with four relationships."

You almost wanna facepalm as everything clicks into place. No wonder she's bummed out. You were showing off with no understanding to how much it would hurt her.

 _Fuck_.

But you're too slow to apologize—she speaks over what ever rushed, half-baked apology you could offer her. Her icy tone pins you on the spot, as does the focused look she harbors when her scrunched-up face and furrowed brow turns to you.

"Forget the movie," she says. "There's something I wanna show you."


End file.
